


Surrender

by Wicked_Seraph



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Seraph/pseuds/Wicked_Seraph
Summary: Yut-Lung knew the kaleidoscope of human emotion like he knew the countless ways poison could make the body betray itself. What he had not expected was the bittersweet taste of genuine, all-consuming desire.What started as a what-if scenario resulted in me writing shameless wish fulfillment fic. Takes place five years after the events of Banana Fish, so rest assured that everyone is an adult.





	Surrender

Yut-Lung knew the kaleidoscope of human emotion like he knew the countless ways poison could make the body betray itself.

Anger was heady and intoxicating, and it was difficult not to swoon when drunk on righteous outrage. Spite tasted like venom, but became a bit sweeter, like licorice, when it bloomed into something like retaliation.

What he had not expected was the bittersweet taste of genuine, all-consuming desire.

The figure standing in front of him was familiar the same way one’s hometown might be after spending years memorizing the gritty back alleys of another country — only to find once-familiar scenery drenched in unfamiliar hues.

The Sing he’d left before returning to Hong Kong had to look up to meet his gaze, but had already learned how to avoid speaking with a razor on his tongue. The swift slap he returned the last time they saw one another had stung — hurt, if he was honest — but he could tell from the gentle burn in its wake that even in a brief lapse of rage, Sing had held back. He could see it in the flash of alarm on his face and the shaky hands that helped him back to his feet. He had said that he could tell Yut-Lung was bleeding, and for a brief moment he considered letting Sing lick his wounds.

Yut-Lung had returned to New York five years later a distinguished heir with enough influence for a gala to unfurl beneath his feet if he so much as suggested wanting to welcome an esteemed guest. The venue had been selected and the catering arranged before he’d finished draining his flute of champagne.

He almost didn’t recognize his honored guest standing in the doorway, backlit by garish lights and chandeliers.

He had expected the defiant, graceless child that had the gall to mark him five years prior, “full of piss and vinegar,” as Wu had described him. He imagined a whelp wearing his father’s over-sized tuxedo, complete with a wispy attempt at a mustache and a scowl brimming with unease.

He had not expected an unreadable expression and eyes like daggers that peeled his defenses like an apple. Sing towered over him, and he knew the smooth poise with which he carried himself was a veneer; his body sang with power.

Yut-Lung trembled, a delicious frisson running along his spine.

“It’s good to see you again, Master Lee. It’s been too long,” he said. It was Sing, without a doubt — the resonance of his voice was like the notes of a familiar instrument, though more like a cello than the violin he remembered.

“The pleasure is mine, Sing. You can drop the formalities — we’re friends, are we not?” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, pouring just enough honey into his tone to avoid inspiring rumors. The lazy smile that formed on Sing’s face could be described as “salacious” or “murderous”. Yut-Lung wasn’t sure how to interpret the the low, simmering curiosity in Sing’s eyes, and extended a hand to test the waters.

“Of course. I meant no disrespect. It’s good to see you, Yut-Lung.”

The name sounds lush and decadent, as though he’d tasted every inflection and savored it. He’d heard his name said countless times with varying degrees of loathing and gilded fratricide; hatred wouldn’t allow someone to say his name the exact same way one would say “fuck me”.

Sing’s grip was firm and unyielding, fingers wrapping around his own tiny hand effortlessly. As he suspected, there were telltale callouses on his palms and fingers, and before he can stop himself he imagines those rough hands leaving trails of fire along his skin. Heat flickered dangerously in the pit of his stomach; he forced himself to abandon the thought before it took root.

He hated scars and bruises, but wondered what it might be like to make an exception for Sing.

“I believe we have much and more to discuss. Perhaps it would be better to catch up somewhere more… private?”

Too much honey, he thinks, too suggestive of the whisper of silk exposing skin the color of moonlight, but it’s too late to take back.

Sing offered a small bow, almost teasing in its meaningless formality, the smirk on his face shifting into a thinly-veiled challenge.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

All of his composure dissolves under the desperate fervor of Sing’s mouth and hands.

“Five years and you’re still as clumsy as ever,” Yut-Lung gasps.

Sing winds his fingers through Yut-Lung’s hair and tugs — not enough to injure, but enough to send a jolt of pleasure down every nerve in his body. Yut-Lung whimpers as he feels searing heat — nipping teeth and hungry lips — on his throat.

“You don’t seem to mind,” Sing whispers. He feels teeth on his earlobe, a tongue in the shell of his ear, and an arm wrapped him in a way that can only be described as “possessive”. Sing’s massive frame easily envelops him, and he wants nothing more than to be devoured.

“Shut up,” he says instead, the low keening in the back of his throat erasing the bite from his tone. Sing continues, as if he hadn’t heard him.

“You’re so sensitive here. Who knew?”

As if to punctuate his point, he trails a tongue slowly along the slope of Yut-Lung’s neck, gripping Yut-Lung tighter when he inevitably trembles from the sensation.

Behind him, he hears the door creak open, and Sing’s hand is at the small of his back, as though to shield him. Sing’s lips are pressed against his neck, but he can feel him shift slightly, as though he means to meet the intruder’s gaze directly. There’s no way for whoever is behind him to mistake what’s happening.

He can imagine the expression on Sing’s face — equal parts desire and ferocity — and allows his lust to consume him, surrendering his shame into Sing’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally the inspiration was this:
> 
>  
> 
> [@NomiMatsu: I kinda want to see a Yue and Sing's version of that Ash kissing Eiji's neck illustration](https://twitter.com/NomiMatsu/status/1061970499767422976)  
> [@milkyotaku: there you go ::) ](https://twitter.com/milkyotaku/status/1062506334132862976)  
> [Me: damnit now I wanna write fic for this. I don't see nearly enough SingYue fic.](https://twitter.com/wicked_seraph/status/1062640124884893698)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm trash and wrote this shit in three hours instead of sleeping yeet


End file.
